


Desk Space

by deltachye



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Desk Sex, Erotica, F/M, Lemon, Reader-Insert, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 13:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8447530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x jumin han]“It’ll do you good to know this,” he said, his voice low. “I am a perfectionist… I never leave things at less than 100%.” Despite the overwhelming burning feeling in your gut, you felt very cold, and trembled with anticipation. “Bring it, Mr. Director.”





	

* * *

 

You had only meant to bring him his lunch like a good wife would, and he had you sprawled on his desk, half naked and covered in freshly bruising hickeys as if you’d done something horribly wrong. Though, you wouldn’t call it ‘punishment’… per say.

“Jumin,” you whined, not so much in an angry tone than with exasperation. “Jumin, what if somebody sees?”

“I locked the door.” His voice was muffled as he bit hungrily at the skin of your neck, sparking tingles of pleasure and pain down your spine. You attempted (weakly) to stifle a moan of desperation, grasping Jumin’s wrists as he tried to unzip your skirt.

“But, you have work to do… a-and, I’m going to see you tonight, anyways!”

“Are you saying that you don’t want this?” He pulled back for a moment to look up at you through half-lidded eyes, shadowy with desire. Embers of lust flickered in his deep, dark eyes. You swallowed thickly.

“No, that’s not what I mean; but I don’t want you to get into any trouble…”

“I’m the Director. The word ‘trouble’ doesn’t exist in my dictionary. Don’t worry about it. Besides, weren’t you the one that kept asking me to give Jaehee a break?”

“Well, I guess.”

“This is her paid break time, then.” He delved back into the soft, sensitive skin of your nape, deft fingers tugging at the zipper of your skirt. In the end you gave quickly, kicking away the fabric so that it hung limply around a single dangling ankle. Jumin had a knack of knowing what was best. Whether it was the best wine and cheese pairing or the right day to go for a walk, he knew best. Besides, you didn’t quite disagree with his preposition this time around. What Jumin also knew was how to get his way. Maybe you were just enabling his behaviour, but you were given fair compensation for it.

“Ah!” you gasped, flinching as his cold hands slipped under your shirt. Jumin’s hands had always felt icy to the touch, and you should have expected it, but the sudden jarring chill on your sensitive skin shocked you nonetheless. He murmured a gentle apology and showed his repentance by kissing you hard, driving air out of your lungs and protests out of your mind until you were left with nothing but fire burning inside of you. The heat emanating from you made his hands feel that much colder, and you were that much more aware of his grazing touch up and down your spine. You shuddered as his lips rested on your jaw, the words on his half-smile.

“Would you like to sign here to complete the business contract?” he asked, the huskiness of his voice not lost on you. You almost rolled your eyes and unclipped his tie from his dress shirt with nimble, knowing fingers.

“You’re making a joke?”

“I thought it was quite funny.”

You looked up at him seriously, your lips half open with the remnants of his dewy taste lingering on the plump skin.

“ _Take me_.”

He didn’t need a contract signed after that. He pulled you close to him, placing a large hand on the small of your back as the other swept across his desk in one fluid motion. Papers, staplers, pens and assortments alike clattered to the ground in a cacophony of crumpling noise. You giggled, feeling a bit naughty after seeing the atrocious mess that lay on his carpeted floor.

“Who’s going to clean that up?”

“Somebody,” he muttered, grasping you on either side of your hips and lifting you as easily one would lift a doll. He placed you farther back on his desk carefully, the height of it making you level with the tall man’s face for once. He leant forwards and kissed you again, his teeth dragging along the skin of your neck as he moved down. You mewled as another shiver coursed through your body, leaving you hot and breathless. It took Jumin no time at all to unclip your bra—useless fumbling was not one of his traits—and it was halfway across the room before you even took notice that he had done anything at all. His hand paused right over your chest, the faint electric tell of his fingers buzzing your skin. Noticing his hesitation, you reopened your eyes, blinking at him.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

“It’s no good,” he muttered disgruntledly, shifting on his feet. “There’s not enough desk space.”

“You’re good at making ends meet,” you teased, opening the gap between your legs ever so slightly and tilting your head with an innocent, cheeky smile. “I’m sure you can figure it out.”

You saw him clench and unclench his jaw, his eyes flickering over you thirstily to drink in the details of your being. It made you feel self-conscious, knowing that he was memorizing each of your imperfections, but you were also comforted by the fact that he was showing you his as well. When he moved forwards again you locked your legs around his hips, keeping him close. He traced a long, thin finger down your lips, damp with desire.

“It’ll do you good to know this,” he said, his voice low. “I am a perfectionist… I never leave things at less than 100%.”

Despite the overwhelming burning feeling in your gut, you felt very cold, and trembled with anticipation.

“Bring it, Mr. Director.”

Already prepared for the answer, he was halfway through undoing his belt. The quiet jangle of the metal buckle made your heart race, arousal coaxing a sound you had never heard before from your lips. He pulled himself away from your loosely laced legs to prepare himself. If there was something Jumin hated more than incompetence, it was inefficiency, and he was already pressed back up against you before you could begin to think about the ‘wrongness’ of what you were doing. You could only hope Jumin’s God wasn’t frowning down on you. Your skin pressed heavily into the smooth, expensive wood of his desk. You reached a hand back to support yourself as Jumin leant into you, a trained tongue pushing into your mouth the moment you dared to violate him by taking a breath away from his embrace. It was warm and dominating, enveloping you in his everything. One hand gripped you to make sure you stayed close, and the other explored the soft curving swell of your breasts, skimming the small patch of skin exposed through your half-undone shirt. Your breath hitched jerkily and your head lolled forwards, your forehead butting into his shoulder as another hand gripped his shirt.

Jumin wasn’t a teaser; he didn’t care to play games. Maybe it was his childhood of being raised on nothing but excellence or maybe it was just his preference, but he always got straight to the point. His index finger hooked around the edge of your lace panties and they slid down your legs soon after, discarded. To him they were distractions, and he only wanted one thing on his mind: you. You didn’t need foreplay anyways. You were always ready to play Jumin’s game. But he paused again, the cool hand on your back grazing the ridges of your spine. You could feel him against you and every breath of his burnt your skin, but he was waiting.

“You’re so mean,” you realized aloud, pouting. “You want me to beg, right?”

He said nothing, but the villainous grin stretching his lips told you his answer. He placed two fingers under your chin and lifted your head to look up at him.

“Go on, then.”

You wanted to say that you were proud, but the truth was that your entire body was throbbing with longing. It wasn’t as if you were lacking in sex. After the honeymoon, Jumin had transformed you into a lecherous girl, constantly losing yourself in him. Maybe that was why it got so hard to say no. Your fingers clenched around the fabric of his shirt and you looked up at him, twirling a strand of your hair around his index finger patiently.

“Please.”

“Hm… not quite genuine enough.”

Impatiently, you said it again, with a tug on the shirt to give yourself more emphasis.

“ _Please_ , Jumin. I want you.”

“Do you?”

Maybe you were wrong. Jumin had admitted to not being a very playful child, so shame on you for thinking he was over it—he was just making up for lost time at the worst time, for you, at least.

“Jumin,” you whimpered, pulling on his shirt again so that he jerked closer to you. “Please, I want you, _please_ …”

“How could I say no when all I want is to make you happy?” he purred, settling his face into the crook of your neck. You almost believed you heard disingenuity behind the words, and you expected him to tease you more. So you were not expecting him enter you without warning, filling you until your breath caught. Your body yielded and a tormented, shaky moan left your lips as he withdrew slowly, hanging onto the very edge before coming forwards once again. It soothed one part of your rapacious lust but excited the other, a simple wanting turning into mania until all you could think about was having him.

“God,” you choked out past the thrusts, your nails digging into his shoulder blades to find purchase for dear life. The desk was solid underneath you but you felt that with each movement from him, so unrelenting and powerful, you and the desk both might be in serious trouble. Your heartbeat quickened and your breaths were shallow, feeding into noisy cries of immorality. You shoved your face into his chest and bit down hard on the fabric of his shirt, trying desperately to muffle yourself. A hand pawed encouragingly at his broad, strong shoulder blade. Jumin jerked your head back up towards him and laid his mouth down over yours, drinking in your repetitive moans as he continued to probe you from within. He was sap and nectar, sickeningly sweet. His tongue swiped over your front teeth and you took a shaky breath, your legs trembling from either side of him. The hand moved away from your chin to support your back, the other cradling you at the bend of your knee to make sure you didn’t slip away from him.

As if you would.

What had started off as systematic propulsions quickly degraded into vulgar, crude pounding as Jumin feverishly lost himself in you, constantly trying to beat himself to travel further and deeper. The forced quiet in the office room did nothing to hide the building fervour between the two of you. Somewhere along the way it had turned into a competition and you weren’t playing on a level field—the game had started on the desk and there was little space to win.

“Jumin!” you blurted out. You knew that you needed to keep your voice down but you were unable to shut yourself up any longer. Any logic in your mind had abandoned you and you were reduced to a panting, quivering mess. Your thoughts swirled into a confounded fog of infatuation and tortured desire. All you knew was that you needed it to be over or you’d go insane. The feeling was sinister and it curled around your gut, maliciously driving you towards the other side. You needed it to be done with. You needed _release_.

“Jumin,” you pleaded again with the single word, your voice strained with the effort of keeping quiet. You closed your eyes as hot tears spilled over the sides, wetting your face. The following onslaught was less than graceful but he reached you farther than ever, so much so that white stars lit up the reds of your eyelids and your grip slackened. You weren’t expecting the snaking wickedness to depart you so quickly, but when it did…

It came with a piercing strike, seizing all of your muscles and forcing a scream of pleasure out of you. Whatever effort you had tried to apply to shushing yourself was long gone and you bit into his neck, latching hard onto the salty, slippery skin. You curled around him, nearly lifting yourself off the desk with the force of which you clung to him. It rippled and exploded in convulsive waves before dying down slow. He was there; every part of him. His smell; his taste; his feel; his love. In your drifting, falling state you almost felt as if you could feel his thoughts too. He was with you all the way, his breath in distressed gasps as he also clung to you, the two of you grounding each other. The warmth from him comforted you and you finally relaxed, dropping back down onto the desk with an exhausted sigh.

“I have to walk home,” you whispered in a light complaint, your voice scraggly. Your neck smarted from where he had ravished you and your thighs were feeling a distant ache, already preparing for an onslaught of soreness for the rest of the night. “I don’t think I can now.”

“I’ll get Driver Kim to take you. He’ll carry you if need be.” Jumin had lost the touch of cool superiority in his voice and leant against you, allowing you to support his weight. He breathed deeply, each cooling the sweaty skin of your chest. You ran a hand through his hair comfortingly, smoothing down the ends until he pulled away, a small smile on his face. It made him look cute. Nobody else would’ve dared called Jumin cute, but here you were; he was adorable, but more importantly, he was yours and you were his.

“You can’t come home early?” you asked as he helped you dress, buttoning your shirt for you. He paused and sighed, his fingers playing with the button.

“Don’t ask me that… if you do, I’ll just drop everything to come to you, and Assistant Kang will have my head.”

You laughed. “Don’t be mean to Jaehee. She’s been through a lot for you.”

“I know.” He finished zipping your skirt back up and kissed you, before taking your left hand. You watched curiously as he kissed that, too, right where the ring was.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said, looking back up at you. He smirked. “If you’re ready by then. We’ll have the bed this time. There will be no rush… no hampering.”

You rolled your eyes and grinned. “Clean up your desk, Jumin.”

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: https://goo.gl/HHdeDM


End file.
